


Open Syllable

by Evenseven



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Commitment Issue?, Ficlet, Linguistics Bubbles?, M/M, No Beta, POV Second Person, Random & Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24352789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenseven/pseuds/Evenseven
Summary: Like it’s a common feature across human languages that empty coda is preferred, you preferred leaving the goodbye short and if necessary, non-existing.
Relationships: Xabi Alonso/Steven Gerrard
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	Open Syllable

**Author's Note:**

> It's almost time...Happy 15 years of Istanbul :) Yes it's 2020 and I'm still shipping this two.
> 
> You've Haunted Me All My Life by Death Cab For Cuties
> 
>  _You've haunted me all my life_  
>  _You're always out of reach when I'm in pursuit_  
>  _Long winded then suddenly mute_  
>  _And there's a flaw in my heart's design_  
>  _For I keep trying to make you mine_

_ **Onset** _

It was quite a common question for you, how you first fell in love with Liverpool. Was it the honorable history? Was it the welcoming teammates and the coach? Was it the smell of the busy harbor, or the fresh air after an overnight rain?

You would always smile and offer the answer you had repeated over and over, that he fell in love with the club at the first sight.

And of course it was a lie, too obvious of a lie yet no one dared to doubt your professed devotion and gentle tone. But you’re not an idiot, not, you wouldn’t commit all of yourself for just the first sight, that’s the way only a foolish soul would behave. You, on the contrary, joined the club with a courageous yet uncertain heart, waiting to explore a novel world.

At least you were honest to yourself, you justified the deception as “personal business” as you went along. You‘d seen enough of the cold-hearted natural of competitive sports, how their tongues could be sharp as a blade and how fidelity was trashed like idiocy. But you could never lie to yourself about the first time you fell in love with the city, and it had something to do with a certain green-eye Scouser. It wasn’t difficult to love a city you barely knew, after all.

A Saturday afternoon you looked into his eyes, sunlight flickered in those previous verdant stones as he smiled back, sincerely and amiably. He embraced you into a gentle hug, those firm lips brushed softly on your cheek, asking how did you feel about the game later that night. You couldn’t find a word as that _kiss_ lingered, leading to you almost panicked when he stared into your eyes and waited for an answer, and all you could do was feeling the beats escaped from your heart.

He frowned and asked if you were alright, you averted those charming eyes while mumbling that you’re fine, you just realized something important, that’s all.

You just realized you're in love, that’s all.

**_Nucleus_ **

You couldn’t escape people’s curiosity ever again after that night, the night you put the penalty in the back of the net with a quite amusing fashion, the night you became the champion of Europe for the first time, the night you _kissed_.

People would remember that day of May in Istanbul ever since, the color of your shirt and your blood, the echo of You’ll Never Walk Alone chasing into every sweet dream of yours. They asked you how it felt to face Dida under millions of pairs of eyes, how it felt to lift the silver cup after such a desperate first half, how it felt to be part of the glory history. Upon everything, some asked you how it felt to kiss Steven Gerrard.

You tried not to blush, and believed that you did a fairly good job of it, and told them it’s only an impulsive thing and it’s unlikely you’d do it again.

Another lie, all those lies.

You did it again and again and again, sometimes on those firm lips that tasted like foggy English dock, sometimes on the back of Captain Fantasy’s shoulder blade, sometimes on those beautiful lines of his muscular thighs. Like the peak of a syllable, it’s always there and you couldn’t help but kissing him again, and again. You couldn’t get enough of the taste of his kisses and the most important thing was, he kissed you back only with more passion and loving. You didn’t talk much about it but it just felt so right, like you were only complete when your skins touched and his hot breath on your earlobe, so close that you could almost count each of his golden brown eyelashes.

It’s an addiction ever since that May, you whispered to him around a midnight when some random reporter brought up Istanbul during an interview that day.

You’re not allowed to get addicted to something, or someone, but all you did was pressing your lips on his smiling one. It felt so drowning and hopeless when you realized you didn’t actually care.

**_Coda_ **

Like it’s a common feature across human languages that empty coda is preferred, you preferred leaving the goodbye short and if necessary, non-existing. You told the interviewers that there wasn’t a proper chance for a formal farewell to the fans, but it was almost a lie.

You simply decided not to say goodbye but still found yourself standing in front of Steven’s house, knocking for you knew it’s the very last time. The agony had caught you off guard, you concluded as you looked into his weary green eyes. It was just another harmless lie, you argued voicelessly, but it was the only rational justification for your pathetic plead.

You beseeched for an answer which he refused to give.

What did you want to hear from me, how devastating I am cos’ you sod off to Spain?

You glared back at him, incapable of finding your words.

A proof of some pitiful love? A token of breaking someone’s heart?

You remained silent.

A farewell kiss? From me? From an idiot that’s shattered inside?

Aggression was his weapon and he pushed, and pushed again, until you couldn’t take it and turned your back to him, voice trembling and tears rolling. At the heated summer end there was no echo of chanting or surge of adrenaline, nothing to cherish and savor.

No, to prove I’m not alone.

You heard his sharp breathing but not a single word, and that’s all the answer you needed. You walked home and to Madrid alone, picking up pieces along the way and never turning back again.

It’s not that hard of a lesson and it took only a broken heart for you to learn. What they said is true, open syllable is always preferable, some things are better left unsaid. Like _May_ and _hero_ are better; _amor_ and _adios_ , not so much.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for my bad writing and thanks for reading ;')  
> Gerlonso 4ever <333


End file.
